


Unstoppable Zuko Meets Immovable Piandao

by Piandaoist (piandaoist)



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Complete Bullshit, Gen, adverbs, crackfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2020-10-13 13:48:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20583506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piandaoist/pseuds/Piandaoist
Summary: An Angry Jerkbender gets an Evil Master whose true pleasure in life is to make his students think he's trying to kill them.  You won't believe what happens next! (Story formally titled "Zuko's Master")





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BrusselSprout](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrusselSprout/gifts).

> Shout out to [BrusselsSprout](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrusselsSprout/pseuds/BrusselsSprout) a.k.a. [royaltealovingkookiness](https://royaltealovingkookiness.tumblr.com/) who headcanons Piandao training Zuko just after his Agni Kai with Ozai. Of course, I ran with this idea. I set it on fire and dumped some gas on it after I let my dog take a crap all over it.

“Why are you here, Swordmaster? Eating all of our food?”

Zuko glares at Piandao while he helps himself to some roast duck.

Piandao sighs, exasperated because, of course, Iroh didn’t tell Zuko he was coming. This is just like Omashu all over again!

While Zuko glares at Piandao with his arms folded, Piandao counts all the ways this is a bad idea. Piandao’s never trained anyone this young. Zuko’s still recovering from his Agni Kai. Piandao hates the ocean--

“Well?” By now, Zuko’s foot tapping against the deck has become more of an annoying pounding cadence that marks every second of time Piandao will never get back.

“I’m here to instruct you in the way of the sword.”

There. That was easy enough.

Iroh, from behind Zuko, gives Piandao a thumbs-up and hopes he doesn’t act up like he did that time he got them all thrown into jail back in Omashu.

“Why?”

Iroh, waving his hands furiously, mouths “We talked about this, Piandao! Lie! Lie! Lie! Be nice! Lie!”

Piandao stares beyond Zuko’s shoulder and thinks <I hate it he’s my boss.> Iroh stops jumping around just as Zuko looks over his shoulder, offering Zuko a timid smile.

“I lost a bet.” Iroh grins so big it looks like it hurts his face. Oh, sure, it wasn’t the nicest lie. But Iroh knows that Piandoa is trying his best.

“I don’t need your Lost-a-Bet sword lessons!” Zuko declares and Iroh’s smile fades.

Zuko tries to stomp off, but Piandao’s next sentence causes him to do a heel-turn.

“Oh? Because I saw you waving your little knife around earlier when you thought no one was watching. You definitely need some Lost-a-Bet sword lessons.”

Zuko stomps toward Piandao, quickly closing the distance between them. If he’d wanted someone onboard to make fun if his knifework, he would have invited Azula to come along. He starts ranting but all Piandao hears is, “Blah blah blah firebending blah blah honor blah blah blah Avatar blah blah…” He’s heard it all before. Well, except for that part about the Avatar. That was new.

Piandao makes loud slurping noises through his straw. The louder Zuko yells, the louder Piandao slurps. Zuko continues his rant while Fat refreshes Piandao’s drink. Piandao is impressed that Zuko can go so long without taking a breath. He wonders if Zuko realizes that his ears are actually smoldering...

“So, you see?” Zuko finishes. “I need someone who can help me with my bending. I doubt I’ll have any use for a sword when I go up against the Master of All Four Elements.”

The silence that passes between them is only punctuated by the sound of the waves lapping against the side of Zuko’s rusty old boat. Iroh’s breath hitches in his throat as he clutches his teacup. Zuko, who suffers from a stunning lack of social awareness, seems bored until he hears a sound from Piandao that causes him to see red.

Piandao laughs!

Zuko bristles. <That shitfaced bastard is laughing at me in front of this entire crew!>

It’s a terrifying belly laugh that causes Iroh’s blood to run cold as the teacup he’s been clinging too shatters when it hits the deck. He’s never actually seen Piandao laugh. No one has. The entire Order has a betting pool going over who can make Piandao laugh. He imagines that it’s one of those situations where, if you see This Guy laughing, you should probably run.

Zuko’s never been much for running.

Piandao stops laughing as if someone had flipped a switch inside him, leaving Zuko confused when he watches Piandao’s face turn into a stone mask.

Piandao has a plan. He sees Iroh mouth the words “Don’t insult his mother!”

Piandao has no plan.

“Fair enough,” Piandao says. “I’ll disembark at the next port-of-call since you obviously don’t need my help. Probably for the best.”

The smack of Iroh’s palm against his forehead is so loud it echoes, scaring away a flock of seagulls who were only flying overhead not bothering anyone.

“And why is that?” Zuko hisses. Iroh grimaces. <Why do these two keep poking at each other?>

“If I wasn’t honor-bound to your uncle, I would have rejected you as a student, anyway. I’m old and tired. I don’t need all this drama.”

Zuko storms off in a huff, slamming the door to the lower decks so hard it bounces open. From inside, they hear Zuko yell, “And take your grumpy butler with you!”

Piandao bends down to meet Iroh’s gaze, leering. He whispers, “That guy needs therapy, not sword lessons, you tart!”

Iroh offers Jee a weak smile. “That went well, don’t you think, Lieutenant?”

Jee shrugs. He’s been watching this shitshow the whole time but has no idea what’s going on.

...

...

Zuko sighs.

Iroh nods and smiles. He’s made tea. He’s looking forward to this little summit. “You’ll see, Prince Zuko. It’ll all work out in the end. I have a good feeling about this.”

Piandao sighs as well. He comes to the table armed with his straw. He’s ready for anything. Fat makes sure Piandao’s glass is full for maximum effect.

Zuko turns to storm off again, only to find Iroh standing behind him looking sad.

Zuko sighs again, takes his seat, and starts to speak.

Piandao fires off a warning slurp while his cranky butler stares at Zuko like he wants to put him in a stew pot.

“Shall I get you another glass of juice, Master, and another straw?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Iroh says.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Fat growls, grabbing Iroh’s teapot and throwing it overboard. “Do not engage me unless you have business with the Master.”

Piandao sits across from Zuko, staring, waiting like a viper looking for prey, while Zuko scratches his bald head. Iroh cries, looking down into the vast unforgiving ocean at his fallen pot of Jasmine and he wonders if there’s an Agni.”

Zuko watches his uncle hunched over the deck rail, crying over spilled tea. “I could probably use some lessons…to help me with my overall training. I need all the help I can get if I’m to take on the Avatar. ‘I’ve trained with weapons before. It’s good exercise for the mind and the body.”

Iroh hears the resignation in Zuko’s voice, the eagerness to learn, the humbleness and humility. Suddenly, his ruined tea no longer matters.

Piandao looks at Iroh’s big stupid smiling face and thinks <I hate it he’s my boss.> Fat looks around for something else to throw overboard.

Piandao nods and puts his straw down, a clear sign that he’s ready to talk business.

“Well, your boat doesn’t have any lifeboats. I already checked. Aaaand we’re still about a hundred miles away from the nearest port-of-call. I already checked. So, yes, for lack of anything better to do, I will train you!”

“Thanks,” Zuko mumbles, “...I think.”

Piandao goes inside and returns with a brush and some ink. “Your lessons start now.”

“You forgot the paper.”

“Nobody likes a know-it-all, Prince Zuko, especially when they don’t actually know-it-all.”

Piandao fills the brush with ink and proceeds to write on Zuko. “You’re the paper!”

Zuko fumes, trying not to completely flip out while Iroh groans when he reads the word “honor” emblazoned across Zuko’s chest plating.

The sound of boots hitting against the metal deck plating while men scurry like frightened field mice to their designated posts are heard all around them. Zuko thinks he hears Jee in the background, snickering. When he turns to look at the man, Jee looks out at the ocean, whistling innocently while pretending to admire a rain cloud.

“This is ruined!” Zuko yells, slapping the ink out of Piandao’s hand. “You’ll replace it!”

“You cannot take back a stroke of the pen or a stroke of the sword,” Piandao points at Zuko’s chest.

Zuko looks down at his soiled uniform as his “honor” drips all over him. He feels himself deflate. “I understand. If that were a sword...”

Piandao slurps and smiles. <Finally, he’s ready to learn>

Piandao points to Iroh who’s beaming with tear-filled eyes. “This one’s an ocean of emotion.” Zuko nods his agreement.

Fat grumbles under his breath as he stalks off.

“What’s his problem?” Zuko asks.

“He wanted me to stab you.”

…

Zuko looks at everyone who’s still standing around and he can just feel the swell of anger within him rising. “Why the flame don’t we have any lifeboats!?”

Iroh clears his throat, wiping the beads of newly-formed sweat from his brow. “You see, Prince Zuko, that’s actually a very funny story...”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iroh appoints himself Morale Officer and schedules Music Night, a night of music and possible mayhem.

“Oh, hey, Butler Fat!” Jee looks nervous, probably because Fat has a cleaver and they aren’t in the galley. “Can I, uh, help you?”

Fat, wearing a tunic that reads “THE BUTLER DID IT”, has been standing at the top landing for ten minutes, glaring down at them as they talk by the firelight.

Piandao pops his head in the door from the hallway, looks down at the men, then pats Fat’s shoulder. “Those guys are fine. We need them alive. You guys are fine,” Piandao reassures them before they both leave.

The men stare at each other in awkward silence...

Meanwhile, things are getting pretty interesting on the Bridge.

“Uncle? No!”

“Why not?”

“Music Night, Uncle? Every week, a talent show? This isn’t the Ember Island Playhouse!”

“Well, not with that attitude!” Piandao glides in with Fat in tow. He does a quick Ocular Assessment of the Bridge and then points to three unsuspecting officers. “That one, that one, and that one,” he tells Fat.

“Very good, Master. And how should I proceed?”

“Just, ya know, do whatever. This is really more your area of expertise.”

“Excellent. I’ll go make preparations.”

Piandao nods and Fat wanders off to sharpen his knives or play with meathooks or whatever it is he does when he isn’t silently judging everyone.

The three officers, wide-eyed and confused, look at Zuko who is already bang-tapping his foot against the floor. “He’s just messing with you. Ignore him,” he snaps.

“But? Sir!?”

“THAT’S AN ORDER!”

Zuko quietly seethes at whatever it is Piandao is thinking.

...

“Is there a reason why you keep making seemingly threatening overtures at my crew?”

“I’m gonna be honest with you, Prince Zuko. Your uncle promised me a luxury cruise. This voyage hasn’t been luxurious and it can hardly be considered a cruise. I’ve been forced to provide my own entertainment.”

Piandao chuckles ** _darkly_ **.

Iroh clears the pai sho board he’s been sitting at for the past four hours and the cook begins to cry. “You’re getting better, Hanji. Just a few more games and you’ll be winning everything back!”

“Uncle, you’d better do something about Master Piandao. The men are afraid to fall asleep because his weird butler wanders the corridors all hours of the night, and says things like they have good skin.”

“Pretty sure he’s gonna make a suit out of us.” Jee enters, worried because no one on this fucking boat is normal.

“Not all of you,” Piandao assures, chuckling ** _more darkly_ ** than before.

“And why does your butler have a cleaver, Master Piandao?” Zuko yells. “Tell him to put it back in the galley!”

“It’s his meat cleaver, Prince Zuko. He brought with him from home.”

“Why?”

“Same reason I brought my own sword. You don’t expect me to get a sword from the weapons room if I already have one that is much nicer, do you?”

“But--”

“And that’s the way he feels about his tools: his cleaver, his ice pick, his custom-made brass knuckles, his boning knife, his scalpel…”

“Did you say _ scalpel _?”

“Like my sword, his tools are an extension of himself. That's why he carries them around. And besides, nobody cares about your boring old galley cleaver!” Piandao finishes.

Zuko decides not to respond to Piandao’s weird logic and he’s sure he doesn’t want to know why Fat carries a scalpel around. Or an ice pick. Or a--just never mind! 

“And why are you up here, Lieutenant Jee? You should be at your post.”

Jee looks at Zuko and thinks **<Bitch, it’s Saturday!>**

“...It’s Saturday.”

“The perfect day to have Music Night, Prince Zuko!” Iroh says, practically bursting with excitement. “It’s the weekend!”

“--Uncle, please… Jee, what exactly did Fat say to you?”

“Nothing,” Jee shrugs. “But Piandao told him he needed us alive. Whatever that means.”

“That sounds like the opposite of a threat,” Iroh encourages while he sets up the board for another game. “Master Piandao isn’t going to kill you if he literally needs you alive.”

“What does he need us alive for, General Iroh? That’s my question!”

Piandao whispers, “It’s classified.”

“Music Night!” Iroh concludes. “I mean, how can we have a talent show if everyone is dead?”

“Uncle--”

“You know, Nephew, it’s just a matter of time before Master Piandao snaps.”

“It really is,” Piandao agrees. “I _ should not _ be left to my own devices.”

“And...” Iroh continues, “he loves music and Fat has a lovely singing voice. Master Piandao...not so much.”

“Don’t remind me” Zuko huffs. “Because he went deck by deck singing those awful sea shanties all night long when I refused to let you dock the ship so You People could go to a brothel. Do I need to remind you that I’m supposed to be leaving the Fire Nation, not touring every single port-of-call in the homeland?”

“You can still move toward international waters, Prince Zuko. We’re not going to drop the anchor for Music Night. That’s the beauty of it. Many of our recreational needs can be provided here on the ship. That’s why I’ve appointed myself the ship’s Morale Officer. Initially, I was going to offer the job to Master Piandao but then I thought better of it when I remembered he was Morale Officer when we were in Omashu and now, King Bumi won’t even return my letters!” Iroh sniffles, wiping away a tear.

Zuko sucks his teeth. “What?”

“And our first official ship activity will be Music Night!” Iroh declares, cheering himself up since no one else will. “All who are not on duty will be expected to attend. That includes you, Prince Zuko.”

“So… I guess, If I want some peace around here, I have no choice but to comply?”

“That’s the spirit,” Iroh says, moving his tile across the board, ensuring that his cook, who is already broke, will now have to give up an entire week’s worth of desserts.

“Don’t cry, Hanji. Music Night is tonight!”

Zuko grumbles when Iroh and the others, except Piandao and Hanji, cheer. “Fine! You can have your stupid Music Night!”

...

“Babies!”

  
  


“So...” Piandao asks. “Are you going to perform?”

“No,” Zuko mutters. “Complete waste of my time!”

“Oh, good. That leaves room on the program for me. Fat wrote a lovely poem about razor blades and I’ve set it to song.”

“That sounds hideous,” Iroh says, smiling. “I’ll put you on first, Master Piandao. After you’ve dragged the audience down into the depths of Agni’s realm and brought them to the edge of the great abyss of eternal dread and suffering, we will pull them up at the last minute with our stirring melodies.”

“That’s how you put a program together,” Piandao praises. “It’s chaotic, bold, turbulent, forcing the audience to really feel--”

“It’s complete tiger-bullshit!” Zuko fumes, his fists clenched into a white-knuckled rage. He points between them. “I see what you two are doing. It won’t work.”

Piandao shrugs. “Fine, it won’t work. **FAAAAAAT!**” Everyone on the weather deck winces when Piandao’s voice cuts through their conversations. “Get the megaphone! I need as much volume as possible. I need a washtub and a rake and that Ensign who likes scraping rakes against washtubs for the sound effects! And fireworks! I need so many fireworks!”

“What do you need fireworks for, Master Piandao?”

“The explosions, obviously, Prince Zuko.”

“No fireworks!” Zuko demands.

“Fine, blasting jelly, whatever! Three barrels of blasting jelly, Fat! Oh and Fat? I’m gonna need three or four rhinos for the one-hundred sixty-eighth stanza.”

“Very good, Master. Shall I also inform Deck 8 that there will be no scheduled attempts made on your life tonight?”

“No! I triple beetle-dog dare him to come at me. My voice is a weapon of mass destruction. If Deck 8 can get through the initial ear-shattering shock without shitting his pants, then let him prove his worth in battle!”

“What the flame is a Deck 8?”

“Not what, Prince Zuko--who! I found him squatting on Deck 8 last week, hiding out in one of the janitor’s closets. He had fashioned a mop into a spear. Had a mean-looking tip. When I opened the door to see who was mumbling, he attacked me. Called me “traitor scum” or something… I was really impressed with his boldness when he tried to land a killing blow to my face.”

  
“What? Why? How do I not know about this guy?”

Piandao sniggers at Zuko’s lack of self-awareness. “You’re pretty self-involved, Prince Zuko. Nothing happens outside your Sphere of Caring if you get what I mean.”

“I don’t,” Zuko says flatly.

“Exactly! You’re the type of guy who wouldn’t notice a rampaging lunatic running around your ship trying to kill your master.”

“Hmph.” Zuko crosses his arms, refusing to let Piandao get under his skin (again). But it was already so painfully obvious that he had, in fact, let Piandao get under his skin. It was also true that they had been at sea for almost two months and Zuko knew nothing of his crew or what was happening onboard his ship. In the palace, they had People for That and those People certainly never inconvenienced him with their lives.

“He’s actually very nice,” Iroh says. “And he makes a wonderfully robust Oolong Tea.”

“Why do you call him Deck 8?”

Piandao sighs when he remembers what talking to his would-be assassin is like. “We tried to get him to tell us what his name was. He was like “Names are a social construct.” and there was something about becoming a pirate king. So I gave him a name, Deck 8, because that’s where I found him. Otherwise, I’d have to say “Hey, You! Stop trying to kill me when I’m using the bathroom.” And that’s non-descript because honestly? You have no idea how many people have tried to kill me when I’m using the bathroom? If someone hears me screaming out “Hey, You!” they don’t know who I’m talking about. Is it Deck 8? Or Fat? Or maybe it’s Iroh after he’s been on an all-night Bumi’s Special Tea bender like back in Omashu.”

“That was one time!” Iroh bristles, shaking an angry fist. “And I said I was sorry.”

He snatches Piandao’s teacup with one hand, raking Piandao’s tiles off the board with the other.. “I’m sorry, Master Piandao, but until you embrace forgiveness, we can’t hang!”

Piandao was winning. He sits quietly plotting petty revenge against Iroh while Zuko pinches the bridge of his nose.

“We were at a port-of-call two days ago for a supply run. Why didn’t either one of you dump him off there?”

“I like Deck 8’s enthusiasm!” Piandao says. “He’s been mixing cleaning solutions for chemical warfare, and he’s turned all the brooms and mops in his “house” into staffs and spears. He renamed the broom closet he’s been living in the “Weapons Room”. He’s shown true initiative. We’re keeping him! Besides, it’s not every day one gets their own personal assassin who works for free!”

“Plus,” Iroh puts in, “He’s very clean. I gave him a few gold pieces to clean my quarters until they sparkled. Fat went over them with a magnifier. No dust, no fingerprints!”

“Frankly, Zuko, he’s the most entertaining person on your ship and he’s at least the fifth most insane person on board. And I hope he’s got backup for whatever his long game is because he’s gonna need it!”

By now, Zuko’s ears are smoking and everyone has focused all their attention on them. “Master Piandao… Please… Stop talking! Let’s just...get on with this stupid thing.”

“Music Night’s not stupid, Prince Zuko. It’s a great time for crew members to showcase their talents. And it’s also a time when we can all feel better about our own musicality by comparing our skills against Master Piandao’s.”

“We’re not doing that, Uncle. He--” Zuko points to Piandao. “He will not be performing because I don’t want any of us to die from ** _ear poisoning_ **.”

“That seems reasonable,” Piandao says.

“Then who will take his place?”

Zuko grabs the list from Iroh. “There are twenty-three people scheduled for tonight, Uncle. That’s quite enough.”

“Actually,” Lieutenant Rori says, his face twisted up in discomfort, “Make that twenty-two, Sir. I probably shouldn’t have drank that brown sludge of Butler Fat’s but… I lost a bet. So, now, I think I’m gonna be spending Music Night in the latrine.”

“What a shame,” Iroh says with a heavy sigh. “But one man’s misfortune is another man’s gain. It seems like there’s room for you after all, Master Piandao.”

“Excellent! I’ll get my giant crate full of needles!”

“Excuse me? Needles? No! I forbid you to perform! Uncle! If you must have so many performers, find someone else!”

“I mean… There is you, Prince Zuko.”

Zuko inhales, exhales, inhales, and exhales.

...

_ “Fine.” _

Iroh pulls Zuko in for a big platypus-bear hug. “Excellent. I’ll put you on last, Nephew!”

“Why last? You said Master Piandao was going first. If I’m taking his place, then I’m going first, Uncle, so I can get this over with.”

“But, Prince Zuko. The Captain always performs last. It’s a naval tradition.”

“So is keelhauling, Uncle!”

An ear-splitting whistle rings out in the brisk evening air. “Hey, everybody! Prince Zuko is going to close out the show!”

The men clap and chant “Zuko! Zuko! … ” while Piandao smiles down at Zuko.

** _<That guy is such an asshole>_ **

  
  


* * *

  
  


Zuko is rightly impressed with how quickly they’ve cobbled together a makeshift stage using materials from ship’s stores: plywood planks, some 2 x 4s, some metal pipes they welded together to build a frame, and some old tapestries they will use as stage curtains to hang over it. Firebenders will provide the lighting for the event.

The mood on-deck is festive. Fat and Hanji have prepared food and drink for the occasion. Iroh nurses a pot of Jasmine to steeping perfection while men laugh and talk to one another as if they are at a grand party.

Zuko looks at Piandao because everyone else is busy doing Things and Piandao is just standing in a dark corner sizing everyone up. He’s probably trying to figure out which one of these guys is the slowest runner.

“I can’t believe we’re going through with this stupid thing.”

“Music is important to people, Prince Zuko,” Piandao says in a voice so soft it shakes Zuko. “In the army, we’d sit around the fire and sing the songs that reminded us of home. We only knew each other’s soldier-selves. We didn’t know who we were before we were soldiers. But we all knew the same folk songs. So, we weren’t just connected by bloodshed. When we sang together, we were also connected by our heritage. Every day, the war tears people down. But music… Music builds us back up.”

Piandao points to Iroh. They watch together in silence while Iroh polishes and tunes his tsungi horn while a proud smile reflects back at him from the horn’s brassy surface.

When Zuko turns to look at Piandao, Piandao is smiling at him the way Iroh used to smile before Lu Ten died--before everything got so messed up. His gray-silver eyes sparkle like a polished blade in the light of the rising moon.

“No one understands this better than your Uncle. He was your age when he went off to fight his grandfather’s war, more than forty years ago. He’s seen what low morale can do to men, particularly during long missions. They lose their edge, their thirst for success. They stop caring about..._ everything _. Beyond the ship, the vast ocean becomes a metaphor for an emptiness that stretches on with nothing in sight to fill the space.”

“You have to keep them busy, keep their minds focused on activities. You have to give them things to look forward to like shore leave, Music Night, games and contests, poetry readings. These things encourage their creativity and allow them to express themselves. If you don’t nourish them spiritually, emotionally, they’ll starve and they’ll die on the inside.” Piandao touches Zuko’s heart. “And they’ll become like lifeless husks just going through the motions. These men work hard, Prince Zuko; they need to play hard, too.”

Zuko turns his attention back toward Iroh, watching as Iroh laughs with the other men over silly jokes. For the first time since the Agni Kai, surrounded by friendship and comradery, Iroh dares to let happiness in.

Zuko nods. “I understand.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


Zuko would never admit this out loud, but the music was quite good. Jee has a wonderful voice. He’s the kind of talent he’d expect to find from a member of the Firelord’s royal chorus. There were obviously less talented performers. The Engineer should definitely not quit his day job. But it was, overall, a very pleasant experience. And Piandao was right--something else he’d never admit out loud. He did feel lighter as if he had been lifted up by invisible hands that carried him higher with each note. But now it was Zuko’s turn. Iroh, the Proud Papa, sits close to the stage, tears in his eyes, and Zuko hasn’t even played his first note.

Zuko was going to say something about how this tsungi horn used to belong to his cousin, Lu Ten--about how Lu Ten taught him his first songs and encouraged him to try harder when no one else seemed to care. How, after Lu Ten went to war, Zuko practiced every day, preparing new songs to perform for him when he returned. But he never did…

But he could feel his throat closing and decided he didn’t want his men to hear his voice crack. It was probably for the best. Zuko was never good at public speaking. He just needed to get through this while he could still hold it together.

> _ “Zuzu… Just pretend you’re better than all the losers who are watching you perform.” _
> 
> _ “But… I’m not better.” _
> 
> _ “Duh! That’s why I said “pretend”, dum-dum!” _
> 
> _ “It’s fine, Zuko. If you get confused or anxious, just play whatever.” _

That’s what Lu Ten always did. He played whatever he wanted. If he forgot the notes, he made something up. Sometimes it was hot garbage but he worked through it, stood up after he was done, bowed, then smiled and went on with his life. He was, after all, _ royalty _. Who was going to say anything about it?

The first note cuts through the crisp evening air like Piandao’s blade: deliberate, clean, decisive. The keys are sticking and the bell of the horn is bent because he dropped it when he and Azula were rough-housing. But he pushes sound through it that reverberates off the tall metal stack directly in front of him, filling the space around them with a brilliant rich timbre, rounded and magnificent.

Flames from the barrel fires that dot the main deck and the blanket of dark make it impossible to see their faces. Zuko finds it strangely comforting, almost as if he’s playing alone at home in his private study, surrounded by his favorite childhood things, far away from judgment.

Silence befalls them during a break between movements. The full moon shines down on Zuko like a spotlight and Iroh thinks it’s gotten a little brighter since Zuko started playing. Zuko barely notices it. He’s too busy worrying about--

> ** _“Performance anxiety!”_ **

Zuko almost stops playing to turn around before realizing Azula isn’t behind him, micromanaging his music lessons. He’s filled with a strange combination of relief and dread when he realizes--for the first time--that she will never be with him on the Ship of the Dishonored.

> _ “You’ll never make it, Zuzu…” _

Or maybe she’ll always be with him.

> _ “Just keep pushing through it all the way to the end, Zuko. It’ll be over before you know it.” _

And so will Lu Ten.

Iroh is lit by the soft glow of the stage’s firelight. Zuko can see his uncle, still with his own horn, quietly fingering out the notes along with Zuko.

When Iroh came home from the war he and Zuko would play the duets that he used to play with Lu Ten. Iroh once joked that they were Lu Ten’s stand-ins for each other.

Zuko feels his chest tighten. He struggles to push air through the horn but he maintains his pitch.

> _ “Remember, playing the tsungi horn is like firebending, Zuko. Like fire, music comes from the breath.” _
> 
> _ “And we breathe from our stomach, Uncle Iroh, so we can push the sound on through.” _
> 
> _ “You’re learning, My Nephew. Someday, you’ll be able to firebend while you’re playing. That will be a magnificent demonstration of sound and sight!” _

Zuko feels warm against the cool night air as quiet contentment spreads through him over the memory of their shared laughter.

By the end, Zuko is breathless, tired. The last note fades out like a dying ember and is greeted by a wave of cheers as it peters out. The deck quakes beneath Zuko’s feet as the men clap and stomp their feet.

Zuko’s lip twitches when he notices that some of the men who are supposed to be on duty have wandered on deck to hear him play. But he supposes he can let it slide...this time.

Praise from the men comes in waves, silencing Zuko. No one trained him for the time when there would be this outpouring of glowing positivity. Iroh is hugging him so tightly that he can barely breathe while the men continue to gush over him.

“Can I please take off my tsungi horn, Uncle?”

Iroh lets out a muffled laugh as he released Zuko, helping with his horn. “Sorry. I’m just really excited for you. Perhaps, next time, we can play a duet? Like we used to?”

Zuko thinks not but Iroh is smiling uncontrollably at the thought. And then there’s Piandao…

“Yes, Uncle! ** _Anything_ ** to keep Master Piandao off the program!”

“That’s what we like to hear!” Iroh cheers and the men agree.

Zuko crosses his arms when he notices Fat glaring at him from a few feet away. “What are you looking at?”

“This is the first time since the Master and I came on board that I hadn’t considered poisoning you, Prince Zuko.”

“Umm…what?”

“Sounds like high praise to me,” Iroh says with a smile so big it looks like it hurts is face.

“Trust me,” Piandao says, placing his hand on Zuko’s shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. “He was impressed. We all were.”

Zuko’s eyes dart around looking for the “critic” among them but the men are all smiles. “R...really?”

Piandao nods. “Yes, really. You’re a talented young man, Prince Zuko. It’s a shame you don’t realize just how talented you are.”

For the first time since his Agni Kai, Zuko smiles. “Thank you,” he whispers.

  
  


* * *

  
  


The next day, the men are still talking about Music Night, laughing, and praising Zuko’s performance. There is a new energy among the crew. Zuko can hear a man down the hall whistling. As he crosses the main deck toward the Bridge, he passes a lieutenant who is singing a drinking song while he fixes deck plating. Somehow, those pointy uniform boots Zuko’s been wearing for the past two months don’t seem so uncomfortable.

“Good morning, Nephew.”

“Good morning,” Zuko says as he enters the Bridge.

He finds the Usual Suspects lounging around the Bridge doing Nothing Useful. Fat stands quietly beside Piandao, frowning. Piandao does nothing, says nothing. Jee is standing around looking at maps and talking to the helmsman because he apparently needs two days off each week. Hanji is crying (again).

Iroh is so giddy he can hardly wait for Hanji to take what will surely be his last ill-fated turn on the board. Zuko shakes his head at his uncle’s full-blown pai sho addiction.

As Iroh makes ready to pounce on Hanji’s remaining funds, a gold piece he borrowed from Piandao, the quick dark hand of the Master grabs Hanji's tile.

As Piandao slides the tile across the board, he bumps each of Iroh’s pieces onto the floor. It’s a masterful play that clears Iroh’s side in less than three moves.

Iroh twists his face up into a scowl. Obviously, Bumi taught Piandao a few new tricks while Iroh was passed out in the garden back in Omashu.

Hanji hugs Piandao so hard he nearly topples him.

“Looks like you under-estimated your opponent, Iroh,” Piandao boasts as he tosses Iroh a pity coin for his trouble.

“I should have known you weren’t offering Hanji a gold piece out of kindness, Master Piandao. You know, you really need to work on yourself.”

“No, I don’t,” Piandoa says as he scoops Iroh’s gold into a bag for Hanji.

Iroh’s expression softens. No point in staying mad at a guy who doesn’t give a shit. “You know, Master Piandao, forgiveness is a gift you give yourself.”

Piandao smirks. “So’s revenge. And revenge is way more kickass!” Piandao winks.

“Come on, Hanji. Let’s go eat Iroh’s candy. I know where he keeps his private stash.”

“Revenge is more kickass?” Iroh seems confused at first. “Hmm...” He strokes his beard. “I never thought of it like that.”

Zuko sighs.

** _<Same shit, different day>_ **


End file.
